Power Rangers Samurai Version of The Hunger Games
by Clementine Plum
Summary: Power Rangers Samurai and Hunger Games Crossover.
1. Characters

**Hey Y'all! I chose to use Mike as Gale instead of Peeta, because even though in the book Katniss and Gale are said to resemble each other, and because of that are mistaken as cousins in the second book, but I just felt like Mike and Jayden would be more true to character this way. So, although I adore Mike and Emily together, I just had to do this. But, don't worry, if any of you have read the Hunger Games, you know that there is still a little Katniss (Emily) / Gale (Mike) romance, and a definite love triangle with the three main characters. And if you are still a little confused, they will have the first name just like in Power Rangers Samurai and the last name of the character whose place they are taking.**

Characters:

~ Emily Everdeen as Katniss

~ Jayden Mellark as Peeta

~ Mike Hawthorne as Gale

~ Mia as Madge (The mayors daughter)

~ Kevin as Cinna

~ Serena as Primrose (She'll be younger than Emily, like Prim)

**First Chapter will be up soon, I promise!**  
**Y'all come back now, ya' hear!**


	2. Chapter One

**Disclaimer: Hey Y'all! I hereby declare that I absolutely do not own The Hunger Games or Power Rangers Samurai. ALL rights go to Suzanne Collins, Saban and whoever in the heck the Hunger Games' publisher is, 'cause I don't have a clue. I also declare that I am indeed a complete idiot to actually try and make a good story out of such a wonderful show and amazing book, and if I ruin it, I will. . . uhmm. . . try again. Maybe.**

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I awake to a cold, empty bed. I quickly sit up and scan my tiny bedroom for Serena. In the dim light, I can hardly see her

tiny body curled up against my mother's, their golden hair tangled together. I look at this picture for just a moment, at my

sweet sister so peacefully dreaming, before I rise to get dressed. "Gah!" I trip over my sister's tomcat, cursing quietly to

myself, as to not wake Serena. Buttercup hisses at me, baring a collection of sharp, yellowed teeth. I hate that cat. I've

always hated that cat. He is, by far, one of the ugliest creatures I have ever laid eyes on. With his, orange patchy fur,

disgusting yellow eyes, and revolting smell, I don't know how Serena can stand to look at him yet alone love him the way

that she does. She's always had a liking for him, ever since we found him wandering astray outside of our small home. She

had begged and pleaded to keep him, I finally gave in, figuring Serena could use a little more company, but knowing that it

would be tough having another mouth to feed. I throw on a pair of pants, a shirt and my leather hunting boots, toss my long

blonde waves into a cap, before tiptoeing into our small living area, and quietly closing the bedroom door behind me. Just

before walking out the door, I notice a small loaf of cheese all wrapped up in basil leaves, sitting on a plate at the middle of

our table. My present from Prim and her goat for reaping day. I slip the cheese carefully into my knapsack, and skitter out

the door.

I walk down a road of the Seam, our part of District 12. On any other day, at this hour, I would be seeing men and women,

hunched over and dirty, walking to their treacherous jobs in the mines. But, today the black, dirty streets are empty,

everyone sleeping in and waiting for the reaping time to approach at two. Our house isn't far from the border of District 12, I

only have to pass a few gates to reach the scruffy old field that they call the Meadow. Separating all of District 12 and the

Meadow from the woods, stands a high electrical fence, topped with barbed wire. At least it's supposed to be electrical, but

usually it only gets two to three hours of electricity at night at most, so it's usually safe to touch. Even so, I listen to make

sure I can't hear the hum of the electricity. When I'm sure it's off, I slide under a broken stretch of fence that is concealed by

bushes and make my way to the other side. As soon as I enter the woods, I find my bow and arrow, hidden in a hallowed log.

The woods, are of course, a dangerous place, but they can also be resourceful for finding food. My dad knew this, and taught

me some before he was blown up in a mine explosion. I was eleven then, and now, five years later, I still wake up from

nightmares, screaming for him to run. Yes, being in the woods is illegal, but I'm willing to chance it for survival. Besides,

most of the peacekeepers pretend not to notice the few of us that do hunt, because they're as hungry as anybody else is.

Very few people take a chance at going in the woods, and always keep the district in sight, so if needed they can run back to

safety. "Yep. District 12. Where you can starve to death safely." I mutter under my breath. I then glance quickly around me,

even out here worried that someone might overhear me. I have to be careful about the things I say about the people that

rule our country Panem, in the far-away city of the Capitol. I've learned that it's best to hold my tongue, and not stir up

trouble. Make only polite small talk. Not talk about much more than trades in the Hob, the black market where I make most

of my money. Especially be careful about what I say at home, the last thing I need is for Serena to go repeating blasphemy

about the Capitol or the Games.

Waiting for me at our secret hiding place in the woods, is the only person I can really open up to. Mike. I climb up the hill to

the rock ledge over-looking the valley, protected by berry bushes from unwanted eyes. I can't help but smile as I sit set

down my things and take a seat next to Mike. "Hey, Em," says Mike. When we first met, I had barely whispered my name,

and all he'd heard was 'Em', when I corrected him later, he had jokingly said that he liked Em better anyways. Since then,

that's all he calls me. "Look what I caught," Mike holds up one of his infamous snares with a loaf of bread sitting in the

middle. We laugh, and as he begins opening the wire trap door, I catch a whiff of the warm bread. Real bakery bread. My

mouth begins salivating at the smell of it. He must have traded for it at the bakery. "What did it cost you?" I ask. "Just a

small rabbit. I think the old guy was feeling sympathetic this morning. He even wished me good luck." He replies. "Oh, I

almost forgot. Serena left us some cheese." I pull the loaf of cheese from my knapsack. "Yum! Thank you, Serena. We will

have a nice meal!" He then breaks into a silly imitation capitol accent, sounding like Effie Trinket, the odd and overly-peppy

woman who arrives every year in District 12 to draw two new tributes names. "Happy Hunger Games!" He chirps in

character, while taking a handful of berries from the nearby bush. "And may the odds-" He calls, tossing a berry toward me. I

catch it in my mouth and bite into its delicious flesh. "- be _ever_ in your favor!" I chime in with sarcasm. We have to joke

about it like this. It's either joke or be scared out of our wits. Besides, the Capitol accent is so strange, anything sounds

funny in it. I watch Mike as he begins slicing the loaf of bread. We look nothing alike. With his dark brown hair, deep grey

eyes and olive skin, just like almost everyone else in the Seam. That's why Serena, my mother and I look so out of place

here with our golden hair and eyes the color of the grass in the Meadow. We are. My mother's parents owned an apothecary

shop in a nicer part of District 12 and since almost no one can afford a doctor, apothecaries are our healers. My father met

my mother because he would sometimes gather medicinal herbs while in the woods, and sell them to her shop to be made

into medicines. I think of how much she must have loved him to leave her much nicer home for the Seam. How much she

has changed since then. Since my father's death. I think of how she just sat back and watched as her daughters starved and

I had to grow up much too early just to barely keep us alive. I don't think I will ever be able to forgive her. Mike spreads the

cheese on the slices of bread as I gather berries from the bushes beside me. We settle back and begin digging into our

delicious spread of food. I wish this were a real holiday, where I could have the whole day just to roam the mountains with

Mike scouring for tonight's supper. But instead we have to all be standing in the square by two o'clock, to hear the new

tributes names called out. "We could do it, you know it, Em?" Mike says quietly. "Do what?" I ask, turning to face him.

"Leave. Run off. Survive alone in the woods. You and me. We could make it." Mike answers. I don't know what to say to that.

Personally, the idea sounds ridiculous. "If we didn't have so many children, of course." He adds quickly. They aren't ours of

course. They're our siblings. I have Serena and he has his two little brothers and sister. You may as well add our mothers

into the equation too. They wouldn't be able to survive alone, without us. "I never want to have kids. Ever." I state, not

saying anything about his statement of running off. "I might would. If I lived somewhere different." Mike says. "But you don't

live anywhere different. Neither do I. And we're never gonna." I answer, irritated. "Forget it, then." He snaps right back.

Leave? How could he bring up something like that? It feels so wrong even talking about it. I could never leave the only

person that I really love. And where did this having kids stuff even come from? There's never been anything romantic

between Mike and me. When we first met I was a skinny 12-year-old and he was only two years older. It took a while for us

to even become friends. Besides, it's not like Mike will have any trouble finding a wife. He's good-looking, strong enough to

work in the mines and can hunt. I hear all of the girls whispering about him at school as he walks by. It makes me jealous

but not for the reasons that everyone would assume. Good hunting partners aren't easy to find.

"What do you want to do?" I ask. "Let's go fish for a while at the lake and gather some in the woods. Get something good for

tonight." Tonight. The night after the reaping. Everyone is supposed to celebrate, and alot of people do, that their children

have been spared for another year. Mike and I make out well. By mid-morning we have a vat of fish, a bushel of greens and

basket full of strawberries. On the way home we swing by the Hob, and trade a few fish for some bread and salt. We trade

half of the greens with Greasy Sae; the bony old woman who sells hot bowls of soup, for some paraffin. When we finish our

business at the Hob, we head to the mayors house to sell half the strawberries, knowing he has a fondness for them and can

afford our price. The mayor's daughter, Mia, opens the door. She's in my grade at school and usually keeps to herself like

me, so we usually end up sitting together at lunch and being paired up for sports activities. You could call her my friend, but

we never talk much, which suits us both fine. Today instead of her usual school outfit, she is decked out in a frilly pink dress

and her shiny black hair is pulled back in a matching ribbon. Reaping clothes. "Pretty dress" Mike says. Mia shoots him a

look, to see if he's being genuine or ironic. It _is_a pretty dress. She presses her lips together, then smiles. "Well, if I end

up being sent to the Capitol I want to look nice, don't I?" She replies. "You won't be going to the Capitol" Mike replies coolly.

His eyes move to a small round pin that adorns her dress. Real gold. "What can you have? Five entries? I had six when I was

just 12 years old." He says. "She can't help that" I say. "No, it's no one's fault. It's just the way it is." Mike says. Mia puts the

money for the berries in my hand. "Good luck, Emily." "Yeah, you too." I reply. She nods and closes the door.

We make our way towards the Seam. I don't like that Mike acted that way to Mia, but he's right of course. The reaping

system is somewhat unfair. You become eligible for the reaping at 12 years old. At twelve you have your name entered once.

At thirteen, twice. And so on, until you reach eighteen, the final age of eligibility, when your name is entered seven times.

That's true for all citizens in the country of Panem. But, here's the rest of it. If you're poor and starving, like every citizen in

the Seam, you can have your name added more times in exchange for tesserae. Each tesserae is worth a small year's supply

of oil and grain for one person. So add it all up, and now, at the age of sixteen, my name will be in the reaping twenty times.

Mike, who has been helping or feeding his family of five for seven years, will have his name entered forty-two times. As we

walk, I glance over to Mike, still ticked off underneath his stone expression. Mike and I divide up our food and money, and

prepare to split ways. "See you in the square." I tell him, walking off.

"Wear something pretty" he replies flatly.

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**Alright, Y'all! Please review and tell me what you thought! This of course, for now, is not much more than a rough draft. So please, review and some constructive criticism would be great if you have any! I am willing to change any small things you would like to see different!**

**Y'all Come Back Now, Ya' Hear! **


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